


Road Most Traveled

by megmeg654



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slight difference from season 8 but trying to stay true to how it went down despite it all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-29 18:18:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19025320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megmeg654/pseuds/megmeg654
Summary: Sansa sits as Queen in the North. A true northern queen. A strong queen. A lonely queen. But despite her loneliness, Sansa would never bow to the wishes of an unknown husband or consort- never again. That was never a question until a stranger thought dead comes back to her, and Sansa feels a little less lonely on her Throne of Ice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a start- idk I just want something different for these two, but I’m going to try my best to stick somewhat close to what happened in the show so as not to confuse anyone. Should I keep going? Who knows? Let me know!!  
> If I do decide to keep going I’ll let y’all know if I do decide to change any plot from season 8

  Sansa had been sitting with her advisors talking over the grain deliveries that must be made to the houses who provided in their time of need. It was stressful, but necessary and something she must do as Queen in the North- when one of the outer guards cane busting through the door.

  “I apologize your grace, but at the gates- a man...” He was out of breath, wheezing as if he had run from the gates himself while she waited with baited breath at who it could be.

”And? Who is it?”

The guard stood straighter as he gulped in a breath, “Sandor Clegane. Y’know the houn-“ 

  Before he could finish she was out of her seat and all her advisors rushed to follow her lead. It was still somewhat strange to get used to- being the Lady of Winterfell and being Queen we’re in some senses very similar, but also quite different. 

  Theoretically Sansa knew what was expected of her, and how she must act- but at the same time she didn’t want to be the kind of ruler they expected her to be. She didn’t want to be treated differently because she was Queen in the North as apposed to if she had been King. Sansa wanted the same respect her male counterparts would have received in their time as regent. 

  Luckily for her it was only one of the many reasons she had fallen back in love with her home country- the North was different from the south. And for that she was grateful, women in the North were treated with respect and had the room to prove their strength. 

  The only reason it was proving strange was both her and her people tiptoed around how rigid of a court she held- was Sansa going to be an incredible ruler who only wanted the best for her people, while at the same time being their queen. Or was she to be a queen, who expected all the rules and traditions of predecessors, while the people came second. 

  Sansa could only hope they knew it was the first.

  She would be different, better....

Although Sansa supposed that’s what all Kings and Queens thought.

    Having said that, her advisors were not used to her getting up in the middle of a meeting and leaving without a word, so they were a bit perplexed.

  As was she- it had months since she had last seen  _him_. Sansa had no word of Sandor’s where abouts so she could only assume the worst.

  His death.

But it would seem Sandor Clegane’s fate was to be forever thought gone, only to show up and prove you wrong like a great big ‘fuck you’ to the Stranger.

   Sansa rushes down the halls as regally as she could while at the same time trying not to pick up her skirts and rush to the courtyard in attempts to know if it could be true.

  Apparently Sandor Clegane could not be killed. 

  Although he did look it. She knew he must be hurting as he attempted to slide of his great black steed as stiffly as possible. With a bright white filly attached by rope to Stranger carrying what could only be a bedroll and not much else.

  When his eyes met hers, she saw in them what could only be reflected back in her own.

  Relief. 

She was no longer alone.

  “Fetch the maester. Immediately.”

  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a little unsure how far this thing will go but we’ll see!! Lol ps thanks for letting me know about some of those errors I will try my best to keep them to a minimum. (But I cant promise anything:)

  Sandor’s eyes slowly blinked awake, and all he saw was gray. Gray stones in the ceiling above him, gray skies out the small window to his left. Gray sheets around him in the most comfortable bed he’d been in since who knows how long ago. 

 And he could only describe himself as feeling gray on the inside, everything felt muddled and foggy. He remembered when the maester had checked him over for anything immediately life threatening, giving him a small vial of milk of the poppy that the strange man had ‘strongly advise you take, so as to heal the wounds of the soul and the body’

  What a crock of shit.

Sandor wasn’t going to take it, as he preferred to be awake and alert- but once the maid came up to give him some sort of humiliating sponge bath as apparently he wasn’t fit to be trusted not to pass out if he had his own bath. Once that was said he downed the small vial like the dornish red he had been so fond of in his time as the Hound.

  So everything was a gray fuzzy mess, until he saw a splash of red.

  This red he would never be able to forget, a red he would never be able to miss- the little bird. 

  And she sat with him now at the small table to his right, with her bright head bowed over some letters she looked to be answering. 

   “He-“ He had to clear his throat, he must have been out longer than he thought sounding like some freak monster Sandor tried again. “Morning, little bird.”

  Sansa’s head whipped up at the sound of his voice, she must have had whiplash which how fast she had moved. Instead she stood up and moved closer, looking him up and down. 

  And Sandor felt shame- embarrassed he had come to her looking as he did. With bruises around his eyes that were yet to heal even though it had been weeks or maybe more since he’d killed his brother. 

  “You look awful,” And he knew he did, but fuck- did she really have to say it? Sandor was about to come biting back about why he had even come all this way, when she knelt next to him.

  “I’m sorry for what happened to you- it must have been a terrible thing whatever was done to you-“ Sansa paused as if thinking over her words carefully, “If I had known there was a chance you were still alive, I would have sent for you. So you wouldn’t have to suffer all this way on your own.”

  A lump formed in his throat, emotion he didn’t want showing threatened to come out both his eyes and out his mouth. 

  “It’s alright, I’ve probably looked worse..” He joked hoping it would lighten both his own mood and hers.

  “How did you make it? If you are this injured and it’s been a month or two since  _that_ day, how are you still alive, how are you here?” Sansa questioned him with fire and sadness in her eyes. 

  Sighing was almost difficult with how tight his chest was, “Now that’s a long and awful story, little bird.”

  Her lips tilted up in a small smile that was almost painful to see, “Sandor I-“

  There was a knock at the door and Sansa immediately stood up , straighter and stronger that he had ever seen on her before. The door was slowly opened and an old man cam through- one he somewhat remembered but could not recall his name.

 “Your grace,” The man muttered towards Sansa. Your Grace?

  “Lord Royce, what can I do for you?”

This Royce fellow walked further into the room, and Sandor didn’t particularly like how he was so incapacitated at the moment, though he doubted him to be any harm. 

  “The council has assembled and the meeting is about to begin, whenever your ready, Your Grace.”

  Sansa nodded along and began stacking the letters she had been working on in her arms, “You remember Sandor Clegane, don't you Royce?”

  She spoke as she worked and the man responded, “Yes, my lady. A fierce warrior who fought bravely here during the Great War.”

  No that description couldn’t have been about him, he was a coward during that battle. Who ran away as cowards do.

  “Yes, he was very brave indeed. The lords are waiting you said? Let’s not keep them any longer than. I’ll send a maester to check on you Clegane, and then I intend to come back and hear that long and awful story.” She left in a flurry and left him completely confused.

 


	3. Chapter 3

  Sansa walked through the halls of the keep with Lord Royce following behind her. After they had traveled back north and she had been named queen, Sansa found Lord Royce and asked him to be her Hand. 

  He asked for a few days to think on it and Sansa had permitted it, until finally he agreed and became the Hand of the Queen. Lord Royce was probably her most trusted advisor as it felt like everyone else was gone.

Jon- banished north.

Arya- sailing to some unknown place.

Bran- gone to be King.

Brienne- Commander of the Kingsguard.

  Even people she never thought she would miss, Podrick, Tyrion and countless others lost to the Great War.

  Only one had come back with her- but now, now there was another here to make it feel a little less lonely. At the moment though the castle was fairly packed, many of the Lords and Lady’s had come back to Winterfell at her request. And others who didn’t have a home to go to were in Wintertown waiting for the meeting she was headed to now. 

  Sansa went by her rooms to don her crown before heading to the great hall. She walked through the doors and passed by all the lords and lady’s who’s heads were bowed in respect to their Queen. It was times like this that made her heart full, extremely grateful she was somehow the woman she was now, despite all she had gone through- today she was here to do good. 

  Once she sat down on her throne all heads were raised and she began to speak, “Thank you my lords, I appreciate you being so patient. As you are all aware we lost a great many people to both the Great War and the Mad Queens War. It will forever be a heavy loss to the North, which is why I’m grateful we are an independent Kingdom. And that independence is largely because of all of you. So thank you, my lords.” 

   There was a great murmur throughout them all of appreciation of her gratitude.

  “But there is still much to discuss, and unfortunately there are Houses that must be renamed and reformed. Lady Alys Karstark was lost during the Battle of Winterfell, and now House Karstark has no heir. So the House must sadly  be renamed and a lord must be seated. Any suggestions that would like to be heard?”

  Lord Manderly chose that moment to speak, “Your Grace, I would suggest a man who was a valuable leader during our times of struggle. His name is Trystane Wibberley, I believe would be a sting lord for our kingdom.” 

 Sansa nodded her head, having heard his name before and was thinking of rising him through the ranks for his loyalty throughout the wars, “I agree Lord Wyman, thank you for the suggestion. Does anyone second this lordship?”

   A few ‘ayes’ went through the hall until it was almost unanimous. “House Karstark Will now be known as House Wibberley once this man is informed and he comes to swear fealty, he will take the seat of Karhold. On to the next subject at hand-“

  Sansa pauses and looked for the man in question before continuing, “Larence Snow. Please come forward.”

 The man stepped forward and knelt before her, with his head bowed, “Yes, Your Grace?”

   “For your continued fealty and loyalty to House Stark, from the Battle of the Bastards to the Battle of Winterfell and beyond- you will be rewarded your ancestral home. From now on you will no longer be the bastard of Hornwood, you will be Lord Larence Hornwood and the Head of House Hornwood. Do you consent to the titles, my lord?” Sansa watches his face change from surprise to gratitude and everything in between.

  “Y-yes I do consent, Your Grace. Thank you. You will forever be my queen, and House Hornwood will always stand behind the Queen in the North.” 

  She smiles at him and nodded her head, silently dismissing him after his declaration of fealty.

  “Now another House that must be renamed, House Mormont. The former Lady Lyanna Mormont was a fierce leader and the people of Bear Island are just as strong. This was a hard choice but one I will not make lightly. A man who fought along side the Mormonts and their soldiers, a lord I'm hoping the people will come to respect- Lord Bryden Smallwood, step forward.”

  And so on and on it went until The Dreadfort and Last Hearth we’re both filled, even plans for builders to go rebuild Moat Cailin. It was a long and sorrowful day for Sansa, having to replace Houses of people she knew but now no longer had any family left was hard- but necessary. A responsibility the Queen in the North had to fulfill.

  As she left the Great Hall she asked a bath to be drawn in her rooms, while she soaked she thought of all the hard things that would be to come- and though right now her rule was unquestioned. Sansa knew a day might come where the lords would demand her marry, they would parade around candidates that they would think would please her- and she would have to refuse. 

  Because that’s not who she was- not anymore. At least that what she thought about herself, she couldn’t be. Not after what happened. Sansa was damaged- but not broken. 

  And hopefully one day she might be repaired. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did y’all think? I’m trying to determine how long I want to make this fic so let me know in the comments what you think I should do!!!

  It had been a boring afternoon waiting for the maester, and then waiting for the bath the old man promised, then waiting for Sansa to come round. And all he could think about was  _her._  

  She looked older than he last saw her, though it had only been a few months- it looked as if stress had aged her in the way it does people like himself. She shouldn’t have to feel that, and it only led him to wonder what he could have missed. 

  It did nothing to detract from her beauty- looking at her was like looking at the sun. Painful up until that point where you’ve been looking for so long you get that weird floaty feeling behind your eyes. Or hearing a songbird so lovely, sadness filled you the moment it flew away. And he hated it- hated this feeling that made him sound like some sappy poet or song maker, yet it didn’t make it untrue. 

   Sansa was what she was- a beautiful mystery. 

  That mystery only grew more insane when that Royce fellow came in here calling her ‘Your Grace’ 

  Or when the bloody maester talked about how ‘her grace insisted he stay in the room behind the partition while he bathed to insure Sandor didn’t fall’ It was ridiculous, especially when the old man commented on how bruised his body was- Sandor knew that, he had fucking eyes didn’t he? 

  He was bloody fucking lucky to still have them as his brother almost popped them out of his head. How he had survived that fall was beyond Sandor’s comprehension. If he had been a man who believed in the Gods, maybe- just maybe he would have thought it was some kind of miracle. 

  Instead what it was was broken ribs and a banged up head, bruises from head to toe and who knows what else. All Sandor knew was that was supposed to be where he died- in the flames of Kings Landing with his cunt brother dead beside him.

   Instead fate brought him here.

Mysterious wasn’t it?

   His eyes were beginning to flutter shut from boredom when the girl he had been thinking about came through his door without a knock or anything. As if she owned the place. Though technically she did own this room and everything in it- including him.

  He had been about to let out a yell for the person to fuck off, when he saw that hair. That red that only she had, made him instantly lean back against the bed in relief. Sansa walked by with a tray of food in her hand, like some common servant- instead of what he was coming to realize she now was.

  “I’ve brought stew and some flat bread to go with it, nothing too chewy the maester said. He thought with your head probably being concussed you should stick to hardy but simple foods, to get your strength up but not risk making your stomach upset. I’ve also brought fresh milk as well to make your bones strong agin, but no wine yet. I thin-“

  He has to stop her, “What are you doing?”

   Sansa looked him straight in the eye, and it was almost too much- the sun was back again, blinding him. “What do you mean?”

   “Should Your Grace really be wasting your time bringing the Hound a trough, when I’m sure there are more important things to do?” Sandor couldn’t help the bite to his tone, trying his very best to cover up how she made the sun rise and set only for him when she came and went.

  Her eyebrows rose in a way that could only be described as ‘Royal Irritation’ before she responded just as sarcastically, “Well, I’ll have you know Her Grace find this very important, she was promised a story. How did you describe it? Long and Awful? Aren’t those the best kind of stories?”

   Sandor couldn’t help but laugh, never imagining the girl from Kings Landing ever saying something so frosty. 

  “Your right, little bird. Or should I call you ‘Your Grace’ now as well?” 

  She shook her head, “No, I have enough people calling me that now. I appreciate their respect, but it’s quite strange to be called that. One day your Lady Sansa, the next it’s almost a taboo for anyone to say my name. As if my name has been detached from me. Although I’m sure you can understand that, can’t you?”

   “How do you mean? I sure as fuck don’t have anyone calling me Your Grace!” The thought alone made him chuckle at how ridiculous that might be- him? A royal? Never.

   “When we were in Kings Landing all those years ago, your name was stripped from you- a jape, yes. But the Hound is not your name. Your not an animal- you are a man. And every man, woman, and child is deserving of a name. And yours was taken from you, was it not?”

  He could almost cry at how deep that sentiment was- how wise his little bird had gotten over the years.

  Sandor cleared his throat, “Never mind me little bird, my names not so important. I’ll take my.... stew now, hand it over.” 

  She smiled at him before placing it on his lap, again not doing as he said- “It is important, Sandor. Never forget that.”

  All he could do was shove that stew down his throat so he didn’t have to speak, forget him being the poet- everything she said came out sounding like sparkling shit out some Gods asshole. 

  “Hmm. Mmm- its good.” 

That was all he could come up with. What a fucker. 

  “I’ll give your regards to the cook. Once you get a more reliable eating schedule you can have heavier foods, now on to your story. Shall we wait until your done eating, or begin now?”

   Sandor spoke around the food in his mouth like an animal, “Nows good. Good as it’ll ever be.” 

   Her mouth twitched upward and his heart did a mini flip every time _he_ made her smile. “Alright then, where to start? After you left Winterfell?” 

  “After I left Winterfell with your sister was boring nothing happened there, it got good after we snuck into the Red Keep.” 

   “It was bad, all the fire and ruble- and death hung like a bad smell all around everything the dragon fire touched. Arya was keen to kill Cersei, finally get her off the list. But I had to stop her- after everything I’ve been through with your family- with you, with her. Hell even with your kingly brother, I couldn’t let her die with me. Because that’s what I was headed towards, my death- I knew it, she knew it too.” He hadn’t realized he had stopped eating until Sansa’s pale hand was placed over his own. 

  Sandor didn’t realize for some crazy reason until this very moment how very different they were, she was all soft, pale, small hands- opposed to his rough, large, tan hands. 

  The hands of a killer.

But she was a killer now too- to think those beautiful hands could be capable of such terrible things.

  “So there I was- and there he was. My hulking fucker of a brother, the keep was in shambles with the dragon riding above us- Cersei was right there. I should have cut her down, but all I could see was Gregor. Or what was left of my monster of a brother. The fight was brutal, he nearly gouged my eyes out- and no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried he wouldn’t die.”

   He finally looked up at her, to see tears welling in Sansa’s eyes. No that shouldn’t be- she shouldn’t cry for him, a waste of water to cry for an old dog.

  “All I could do was hope that if I jumped out the walls of the Red Keep we would both die together, but I guess fate had other plans- don’t cry little bird. I’m here, aren’t I?”

   “How? My prayers alone wouldn’t have saved you from such a place.”

  Sandor couldn’t help but feel a little bloom of  _something_ in his chest, “You prayed for me?”

  “Of course- that’s not even a question. I’ll always pray for you, Sandor. Now continue, how did you make it from there?”

   “Your little killer of a sister and I japed about how she would leave me to die once again, but somehow we were wrong about that. Somehow I woke up to shaking, I thought it was the earth crumbling beneath me- in stead it was your sister shaking me awake. Screaming at me to get up, and there she was covered in ash and blood, but alive. I can’t remember how but she got me standing and onto this white horse. The horse was covered in gore, and I don’t know how she carried me or how your sister managed to find a horse in all that mess. But she slapped its rear and sent me off. That- that was the last I saw of Arya- I haven’t seen her here yet, is she.....”

  Sansa’s eyes widened before her quick response, “Of course, Arya is alive and well. She wouldn’t go out like that- she’s too stubborn....”

  “So where is she? Where is everyone? That brother of yours in the chair? Jon? The Dragon Queen?”

   “Arya is off sailing around the seas, Daenerys is dead- by Jon’s own hand. He had to do it- I went to Kings Landing hoping to free him, and the destruction she left in her wake was horrifying. So now he’s been banished to the Nights Watch, like some common criminal. And I hate it- I’m the bloody Queen in the North and I couldn’t do more to save him from such a terrible fate. I failed him.”

  “No- you didn’t, obviously there was nothing you could do. I know you and your sister- the two of you wouldn’t go down without a fight- I’m sure Jon knows that.” Sandor wished he could do more to comfort her- but all he knew was violence and war, what did he know of how to comfort a woman?

  “So who’s king? The imp?”

”No, he’s back to being Hand. The new King of the six kingdoms, is my brother Bran. Something I never expected- a shock to you I’m sure. Just as much as it was to everyone else. But forget about all that- tell me more of your journey home.”

   Home.

What a strange word.

  “I don’t think I’ve had one of those in years- a home.”

   She smiled that pretty smile, “Well you do now. And always.”

  Sandor’s heart was in his throat and his stomach was in his chest at how beautiful this moment felt- and tried to distract himself, “Well the horse just kept going until I finally fell off it, and woke to some old woman who had taken me in on a farm. She nursed me back to as strong as I could be for a few weeks, until I decided it was time to move on. She was already nice enough- I couldn’t take anymore from this old lady, she hardly had anything left to give. And for that I’ll always be grateful. I kept heading North with my ribs bound as tight as I could until- funnily enough I found a man trying to mount my horse. Stranger had run off just like his master at the sight of the flames, so I took him back. I’m sure the white filly was grateful she wouldn’t have been able to carry me all the way here. But I couldn’t just leave her- that horse was the last I had of your sister, so I kept her with me. And just kept going until I was here.”

  There was silence for a few minutes, and Sandor wouldn’t admit it out loud- but coming north wasn’t just some random roaming. All he could think about was Sansa- fuck! He thought he was going to die- and if he was, Sandor was going to go out with one final look at his little bird.

  No matter how pathetic that might make him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all I tried my best to go through and edit to lessen the mistakes, but who knows If I missed a couple... eeeeekkkk:)  
> I’m thinking I should start responding to comments, what do you guys think? Do you care? Lmk

  Sansa watched as the men who remembered Sandor Clegane were training in the courtyard, they greeted him and asked if he would be joining in. She knew it was painful for him to say no, but it had been hard enough for Sandor to convince the maester to let him free of his ‘confinement’.

  She spent the week visiting him every day when her schedule permitted it. It was almost funny to watch his mood sour  with each day in that small room. Sandor was practically chomping at the bit for his freedom.  

   He shed his light cloak and began doing some small stretches before picking up the long sword she had provided for him. 

  Sansa wasn’t particularly happy about his insistence to start practicing again- thinking it was too soon, “No- it’s too fast. You can begin small exercises, like the maester said. Why rush into this when your body obviously isn’t ready?”

   “I don’t want to talk about this, woman! I said I’m doing it- so I am.” Sandor walked around the small room, getting ready to head out for his daily walk, turning his back on her to wrap his cloak around his shoulders.

  “Do not talk to me like that. I’m not that same girl from all those years ago who you could snap at when you were feeling bad about yourself. And I know your not that same man. So what’s the real problem?” Sandor sighed while his shoulders slumped.

   “You’re right. I’m sorry, little bird. I just hate this- this feeling of helplessness, it’s awful. My body feels weak, and I need to get back in fighting form.” Sansa knew he meant his apology, though brief- Sandor didn’t say anything unless he meant it. And she understood that he needed this.

  “Hopefully there won’t be anymore fights to come- at least not in our lifetimes.” Her hand came up to his shoulder, trying her best to deliver some sort of comfort. 

 Finally he turned around to look down into her eyes, Sansa having to look up- despite how tall she was for a woman, it never seemed to stop the shock of how much bigger and stronger he was than all terrible men who came before. 

  “Litt-Sansa...” Sandor seemed to stutter over her name before continuing, “there will always be more fights to come, and I don’t want to do this just cause I want to fight- I need my head screwed on straight. And the only fucking way I know how to do it is by getting my body ready for whatever is to come next. So I’m gonna do it, alright?” 

   Sansa looked up into his eyes and sighed before slowly nodding her head, “Fine, I will allow you to train- but you will do so with caution and listen to your body if it tells you to stop. And after a few days I will have the maester check you, and if he says your recovery has gotten worse... You will stop immediately, without argument.”

  A few days later she had given him the sword he now used- hoping if he had the weapon, it might slow him down a bit. Luckily he had been listening to her for the most part, and leaving the training yard before he hurt himself. Sandor would usually be a bit sore when he took his supper in his room, but Sansa was reassured after the maester cleared him of not further injuring himself with all the training.

    Sansa watched as his muscles moved in an almost hypnotic rhythm, but she forced herself to move on from ogling him before she got too carried away.

   So instead she dealt with matters of importance before heading towards her little project. Sansa had a few hours before dinner, so she headed towards the kitchen for her meaty treats.

   With her basket in hand, Sansa walked through the halls of Winterfell. Greeting people she passed by with a smile, Sansa hoped the people who lived in her home were happy with her rule. 

  As she made it to her destination- a voice she would always recognize called out to her, “Your Grace!” 

  Sandor and her had agreed that in public he wouldn’t treat her any different than any other member of Winterfell would, “Yes, Clegane?”

  “Where you headed? I’ve just finished up, shall I accompany you, ‘Your Grace’?” He said with a sarcastic smirk to match.

  Sansa’s lips twitched upward in response, “Alright, you may hold my basket while we head in.”

   She handed the treats over to him before walking ahead into the kennels. Every time she came in here, Sansa felt a chill up her spine- but she steeled herself not to be afraid in her own home. And if she could could burn the memory of Ramsey from her soul, then who’s to say these hounds can’t be saved as well. 

  After the Great War and everything that came after, Sansa came down here to see what was left and found only a few of them had survived the whole ordeal. From what the new Kennel master said, only three hounds from the days of Ramsey were still alive before the war- two girls and a boy. But after the war the two females were the only ones left- one of them pregnant with pups.

   After she had found out, Sansa hoped she might be able reform the ones that were left with love and plenty of treats. As it were the pups already believed her to be their new master, sadly though the aggression that had been bread into them would sometimes surface. She was slowly but surely gaining the trust of the momma dog- however it seemed the other female dog was too far gone. The meat she was given would not satisfy her- and Sansa knew this one had to have been one of Ramsey’s hunting dogs, that only had a craving for human flesh. So she told Sandor as much.

  “I’m sorry little bird, but this one is probably too hurt and too old to change. All you can do know is love her and try to fix whatever Ramsey broke- but I wouldn’t recommend you breed her. She’s been through too much, who knows if she’d even be gentle enough when the pups did come.”

   Sansa’s heart broke, all she wanted was to save that which was broken- and to hear what she already knew, but didn’t want to admit to herself was hard. 

  “It’s best you continue what your doing with the pups and the mom, as it sounds as though it’s working. Maybe soon enough you’ll have your own Little Hound to accompany you around Winterfell, and you won’t need me.” Sandor jested while walking with her to her final destination. 

   “You probably shouldn’t come in right away, the momma doesn’t know you- I don’t want her getting scared and lashing out. Maybe you can hand me the treats through the gates so she’ll learn to know you?” He nodded his head in agreement as he watched the puppies run up to her to tug on the skirts of her dress. 

  “I remember this part- it used to be my favorite to see the puppies flock around my sister. Irena always used to love playing with them, then I would teach them to sit and stay- then fetch. They never liked Gregor, stayed as far away from him as possible. The dogs never even knew him, but they knew he was bad news- hounds are smart like that.” Sandor began handing little pieces of meat through the gate into Sansa’s hands once she sat down. And her heart thumped a little faster as he began to speak about his past and his sister. 

  “Well maybe when they get a little older, you could train them to be good. Then you could help me choose which one is best to be my new companion.” Sansa watched him nod his head as the treats came to an end, before she scratched a few more heads and slowly gave the momma a nice pat. 

    As she left the kennel, Sansa took his arm and led him towards the dining hall with thought of loyal and good hounds running through her head.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of the Easter eggs???

   Sansa walked throughout the yard of Winterfell with Lord Royce at her side, they spoke of grain that needed to be stored, homes that needed to be fixed outside the walls, and hunts that needed to be had. 

  Royce was a good Hand, and generally they agreed on almost everything- but when there was something he didn’t like, he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. She had known him for what felt like an extremely long time, so Sansa would like to believe she knew him pretty well.

   Which is why she knew something had to be on his mind, when he grew silent as they stood watching over the men training. 

   “He is a fierce man, Your Grace.” She didn’t have to look at him to know of whom he spoke.

  But she played along anyway, “Which one? I am impressed by every man who trains to protect the walls of Winterfell, you’ll have to be more specific, Lord Royce.” 

   Her eyes landed on the man in question, who spared with the men- and she couldn't help it if her stare landed on his bare chest for a few moments too long. 

  “I had heard many stories of Clegane’s strength and prowess in battle- that would be something unable to miss if you had eyes. Yet it was his honor and courage that shocked me most.”

   Finally she turned to look at him- never trusting such a nice compliment about herself or anyone around her, “Speak plainly, Royce. I won’t be offended- what is it?”

   He gestured for her to walk with him, so she knew it would be a somewhat sensitive conversation, “There have been whispers- nothing you should really concern yourself with- as you are Queen, you may choose who you spend your time with. But some are wondering why the majority of your free time is spent with Clegane...”

   A fire was lit in her- angry that it even mattered what other people might think, “And? What are you suggesting? That I distance myself from him to protect what... my innocence? That’s surely gone already- and I am Queen.” 

  The two of them started walking down the steps until they reached the bottom, before Yohn turned to reassure her, “Absolutely not. I agree with you, Your Grace. Who you choose to spend your time with is entirely up to you. What I do suggest- is if you wish to quiet these stupidly petty whispers, then give him a job. So that no one will have reason to wonder. Silence them by making him important enough that it wouldn’t be unreasonable to be so close.” 

   Though at first this conversation had done nothing but anger her- Sansa could see why he told her. So that she wouldn’t be surprised if she heard such vile rumors, only doing what a Hand should. 

  She nodded her head and let out a harsh breath, “Thank you. For telling me- truly, I'll think on it.” 

   Royce bowed his head when she silently dismissed him, before she turned to walk the other way- and what do you know? She saw the man in question, walking her way.”

   “Clegane. Where are you headed?” 

Fuck them. And fuck whatever those people thought. 

   She was gonna do what she wanted.

”Just finished up training, Your Grace. Gonna grab the pups for some training of their own.” Grabbing a skin of water, he gulped it down after he finished speaking. 

   She waited until he put it down again before taking his arm, “I'll join you. It’s been a few days since I last saw them. I’d like to see your progress.” 

   “They’ll be grown soon, it’s been a few weeks since I met them- and they grow every day. The little fuckers.” Though speaking harshly about the pups, he couldn’t help but smile when he brought them up.

   She watched him show her which ones had the most potential, and she nodded along but all she could think about was how what Lord Royce said was true in a lot of ways. He needed something- with no fights to fight, no wars to win- Sandor would grow bored and she knew it.

   “What’s on your mind? You been pretty silent since we got here. It looked kind of tense with that Royce fellow. Do I need to have a word with him?” Sansa couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the thought of Sandor standing tall over Lord Royce, telling him to be nicer to her. 

  “Thank you, Sandor. But no- that’s not it. I... I think you need a job, something to keep you busy? This can’t keep you entertained.” 

   He paused at that, before looking over at her- then a guffaw came bursting out of him in what could only be a laugh.

  “Fine, little bird- give me a job. Make me kennelmaster, if it pleases you. Back to my roots- I’ll be better than the fucker you have who does it now.” Sansa  could see how he thought it a joke, how little Sandor thought of himself.

   So she would prove him wrong- somehow, “No. The man who works here now might not be the best, but he is a good man. And besides Sandor Clegane is worthy of far higher a place at Winterfell for his loyalty to House Stark.” 

  She smiled at his shocked expression before leaving the kennels and heading towards her rooms, needing time to think. 

               ——————————

 

   It was hours later when she finally came to a decision, so she called a guard to her and made her way towards the great hall for supper.

   It was a lively atmosphere full of loud laughter and happiness, almost reminding her of how it had been as she was a child. Her belly was full and the people around her were good- so now should be as good a time as any.

   Sansa called that same guard from before back, and asked him to fetch something from her room. Once back he presented it to her, covered in the same cloth it had been delivered in. 

   Finally she stood, and the room eventually grew silent- her eyes swept the hall until she found him, “Sandor Clegane. Would you please step forward.”

  There were a few murmurs throughout the hall, until he stood and it impossibly grew even more silent than it had been before. She could tell by the look on his face he did not enjoy the attention, and was only doing what was asked of him- because it was her who asked.

   Finally he stood before her, “Sandor Clegane, I have called you here before me to honor you for your continued loyalty and faithfulness to House Stark. Though you have never asked for anything in return for your dedication, the North Remembers. And the North will not let your devotion go unrewarded.”

  Sandor's face stayed the same as it had when she began speaking, and it was almost hard for Sansa, not to grin at his stubbornness.

   “I don’t want a reward, Your Grace.”

She nodded her head- expecting this answer already, “And yet I’ll give you one anyway.”

  Sansa moves away from the table and walks around it until she stood before him.

   “For years you have protected all members of my family, and with this gift I hope to make you an even stronger protector,” Sansa turned back towards where she had been seated and moved the cloth away. Sansa slid her hand around the hilt and the blade, before turning back around.

   “I present you with Valyrian Steel, a sword made from Ice. One that was stolen from my family, it should be used by someone who is worthy enough to wield it. This is Widow’s Wail, you may rename it if you wish- but it is yours.” She presented it to him and watched his face change from shock to wonder, and all that went in between- until finally he gently took it from her. 

   Tyrion had sent it to Sansa, a few weeks ago saying it was only fair- a sword made from her fathers belonged in the North. And that she may do with it as she pleased, he didn’t want the reminder of his brother so close to him everyday.

   Sandor’s eyes returned to her, with emotion completely changed from what it had been when she called him to stand, “And with it- I ask of you one more thing, Sandor Clegane...”

   “Whatever it is, if within my power- it is yours.” He pledged, and she knew it wasn’t a pledge just to the Queen. But to her. 

  To Sansa Stark.

To his Little Bird.

   “I ask of you to use that sword to command our armies, should the need arise- and become My Master at Arms.”

   He took a moment- and for a second she panicked, thinking he might say no. But instead he took a deep breath and nodded, before dropping to one knee.

  “I will defend you and the North until my last breath, and would be honored to serve you as Master at Arms.”

   This moment had seemed so private, Sansa almost forgot they were surrounded by fellow northerners, until she heard clapping at his last words. 

   All she could do was smile- let them talk now. Who could question the many ‘strategy meetings’ she would have with her Master at Arms now? 

  No one. 

And that’s how she liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of the Easter eggs?? Let me know!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys check out the end notes, I want your opinion for something I want to do in the next chapter!!!

   Sandor rode Stranger around the perimeter of Winterfells walls, with some of the men he was training trailing behind him and his great beast. He had been working the men hard after Sansa gave him his appointment. 

Sandor would put his whole self into this, he didn’t want to disappoint his little bird- it had been one of his proudest moments. That’s not to say he hadn’t felt a short burst of anger when she called him to her in front of the whole of Winterfell. 

Sandor wasn’t even sure it was anger he had felt- more like a scary mix of embarrassment and fear, that lead him to fume for a few awful moments. And the way she smirked at him, almost made it worse- like she thought he was funny, as if she knew him that well.

Except Sansa was probably the only person in the whole of Westeros who actually _did_ know him that well. 

Which also meant she would know he wouldn’t want whatever rewards she was wanting to give him.

So he said as much.

And she practically laughed him off.

It wasn’t until she presented him with the sword that he realized how much she was giving him. What it represented....

It was stolen from her family, only to be given the the boy King that had tormented the little bird- and now she had back all that was left of her father besides his bones.

And she gave it to him.

To Sandor. Fucking. Clegane.

Something that should mean so much to her. He couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat, or help fighting the foreign feeling of tears threatening to surface. And he knew- whatever she desired, would be hers. Sandor would never leave Sansa Starks side, unless it was her who dismissed him. 

That was as close to a vow as he had ever sworn before, and he would do it again- only for her.

For the little bird who placed her trust in him so freely.

So he started his new job as soon as he could, began training the men who had joined the Starks army during the Great War out of necessity, but hadn’t been anything close to soldiers. They had been squires, guards, kitchen staff and stable boys. But they had survived the war- despite how untrained and inexperienced they happened to be, they were still here, so Sandor believed they deserved to be properly taught. He was still shocked that there were some women who started joining his training sessions from time to time. Sandor hadn’t been shocked they joined because they had been women- no he knew for a fact women could be some of the fiercest warriors out there, he was surprised because they had stayed. Despite how much of a cunt he knew he was- Sandor wouldn’t change the way he spoke to any of his pupils, regardless of whether they had a cock or not- yet those women who had been passionate enough stick it through and let him teach them what he could. 

And there was no world where he was able to properly teach anyone anything- but Sandor had been through many wars and he knew how to survive. So if he had gotten this far doing it his way, who’s to say that his way didn’t work?

Eventually the group made it back inside, before they ended their session in the Godswood, “Alright, water your horses and catch your fucking breath- the lot of you sound like you were just made to run from White Harbor to here with how your breathing.” 

Gratefully, the lot of them dismounted and some sat with their heads between their knees while others walked back and forth, taking in large gulps of air.

Sandor wouldn’t deny that he had worked them hard. Even he needed a nice gulp of something fresh to drink, but he needed to set the example. The majority of those here already met him at one point or another since either the Great War, or his time since coming back to Winterfell. 

And as much as it made him sound and feel ridiculous, Sandor wanted their respect- he wanted to show that he had earned this position, despite all the injuries to his body he was still the Hound- a fearsome warrior. So he would work ten times as hard as any man out here, if not only to show them that if he can, any of these sorry fucks could be broken and still be able to build themselves back together, stronger and better than ever before.

   Sandor looked up and saw the trees with faces and all the red leaves that surrounded them here, and all he could think of was _her._ This was where she had grown up- probably sat in this very spot on some occasion, and as he looked around all of it reminded him of his little bird. 

  Skin as pale as the snow that fell to the ground.

  Hair as red as the leaves that fell from the trees. 

  The sky was this blueish gray color that reminded him of when she had fire in her eyes, and passion in her heart. 

   All of it was her. 

And it was beautiful.

   Sitting here he could almost understand why people believed in the Gods- because if anyone was a God to him, it was her. As if he could feel Sansa’s presence in this holy place, when he knew for a fact she was still inside the halls of the keep.

  “God damn you worked me hard, Clegane. You trying to kill me?” Sandor looked to his right and saw a smiling face, that belonged to a man called Bryden. 

   He had introduced himself a few days ago when he asked if he could join in training- Sandor had looked him up and down, from his barely there beard to his scruffy brown hair. He couldn’t have been more the four and twenty if Sandor had to guess, but he had some meat on his bones. Wasn’t too scrawny, with training maybe this Bryden fellow could be useful.

   The young man had started talking to Sandor whenever they had breaks, he talked about how he grew up in the castle, how he had been sent off to train to be a cook at Castle Cerwyn when he heard of the Lady Sansa’s wedding to the bastard Bolton. All he seemed to do was talk, and usually this would be someone that would get on Sandor’s last nerve, but there was something about him that made him think twice about snapping at him to shut up. Would probably be like kicking a puppy if it accidentally nipped your finger- just wouldn’t feel right.

  So he let him jabber on, “Have you named it yet?” 

  Sandor looked over at him, not realizing the boy had been talking the whole time, “Named what?”

  “The sword! Don’t be daft- it’s gotta have a name, gotta give a good one too.” All he could think of was that day in the bushes with Arya while she jabbered on about her precious Needle.

   “Not really in the profession of naming Swords, that’s for stupid cunts- not me.”

   Bryden laughed before continuing, “No you have to- Valyrian Swords always have names, whether you want them to or not. And you want to let it stay that stupid one- Widow’s Wail.... You got to change it.”

  He was right- Sandor couldn’t let the sword keep Joffrey’s terrible name, no the sword deserved better. 

  “I remember when I was a kid, I saw Ned Stark heading towards the training yard with Ice, so I followed him- watched him spar. And then he came towards me to grab a skin of water, looked me square in the face- I was afraid I’d get in trouble for skirting my duties, y’see. All he did was smirk and wave me closer, he asked me if I could hold his sword for a moment while he drank. So of course, I did- and it amazed my little kid mind, how he could a wield a weapon that was so heavy, with such ease.” Sandor could tell he had admired Ned Stark, as much as everyone who lived within these walls did as well. 

  “He was a good man. They left a year later for the South, and everything turned to shit. At least until she came back. I think we’re gonna be okay- the Queen seems like she’s got her head on straight. And she’s got you- to teach all of us pea brains what end is up, yeah?”

    _And she’s got you-_

Of course she did- Sandor was all hers. And he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t feel a blossom of stupid man pride when Bryden said he was hers. 

  It was true. 

And he wanted everyone to know.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to name the sword in the next chapter, any ideas you think would be any good?? Let me know what you think and I might choose yours!!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of your ideas were super awesome and I loved them all the same but......  
>  I want to give a special shout out to AdultOrphan and Shruiken87 for giving me the most inspiration for what Sandor’s sword will be called- it won’t be in this chapter, but in the next one (sorry)   
>  Maybe you can guess which will be my pick of the names?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes at the end!!!

Spring was just around the corner, and Sansa felt how grateful the people were that winter was finally coming to an end. She could feel their thankfulness- but something was still missing.

Happiness. 

A sense of joy had been gone for entirely too long- all the battles and war still weighed heavily on both herself and her people.

It was all she could think about as she sat in at the daily meeting with her advisors. 

To her left was her Hand- Lord Royce.

On her right was Maester Godric.

Across from her sat Sandor.

Then there was Winterfell’s Head Builder- Asher Quinn.

Next was Erron Darke- the Master of Horse.

And finally the Steward of Winterfell- Cedric Smallwood.

Almost all of them were nobody’s before the war, but then proved themselves and earned their positions once all the fighting was done. 

And now they sat at the Queens table, discussing financials and projects that needed to be had- but nothing that would lift the spirits of the people.

So Sansa set out to change that, “I’ve been thinking as of late of an idea to do something that might lift the spirits of the people. It’s been rather morose for the past few months- and rightly so, but I think the people have earned something to look forward to, to welcome the coming of spring.” 

Maester Godric looked at her before nodding, “I agree, Your Grace. There were many losses during the Great War- and the pain has still not lessened for most. Please continue...”

“It may be a bit frivolous in both cost and time, however I would like to hold a small tourney to celebrate the feast of the Warrior. The Warrior’s feast day is arriving in the coming weeks, and although most of us here don’t follow the Seven- I should like to honor my late Mother’s religion and hold a special treat for the people.”

Sansa looked out at the faces around her, some looked as though they liked the idea- while others seemed to need more convincing.

“I should like to have a two day tournament, with three events- the first two being an Archery Competition, as well as one for Horse Racing. We have many people who fought and trained with the bow for the Great War as well as many skilled riders, so I should like to hold those two competitions open to the public. Anyone from Winterfell or Wintertown may enter,” then she looked to Sandor.

“However for the melee, I was wondering if your trainees might be up to challenge, Clegane?” 

The man let out a sigh before nodding his head as well, “Yes, I think most of my men would look forward to it. Probably like the chance to show off in front of a crowd, too- I’ll ask who’s interested.”

Sansa smiled thinking this was coming along quite nicely, “Good. And as this is a feast for the Warrior- which is all about valor and skill in battle, we shall reward the top two competitors of each event, with an honored seat at the High table during the feast. We’ll have dancing and a feast for everyone- but it will still bring in money for the public since these type tourneys usually bring out the mummers and puppet shows. As well as food vendors, work for the blacksmiths- and not to mention extra lodging will probably be booked in Wintertown as well. Good for the economy, yes? So what do you think?”

Cedric spoke first, “I would have to notify the staff, as well as start planning with Cook for the feasts. Probably have to let the butcher know to begin preparations as soon as possible- but I quite like it. It’s not usually a Northern tradition, but hopefully it shall build morale.”

It was Quinn who was more practical, “When does this feast day begin? We shall have to wait for more snow to melt before we construct the stands for the melee, or clear track for the Horses- will we have enough time?”

“I believe so, the Warrior’s feast day is not for a many number of weeks. Should we invite anyone, Lord Royce? Or keep it a closed affair?” Sansa looked to her Hand, knowing he knew most of the houses more personally than herself.

“Manderly would probably attend, as he holds the New Gods, and Glover would surely appreciate an invitation- if I remember correctly, Robbett always did love a good tourney. I should think we should probably invite representatives of all the houses, though I doubt they would all attend as most still pray to the Old Gods.” Royce began writing down all the names of houses that might be in attendance, while speaking at the same time.

“You said six winners would sit with you at the High Table, Your Grace. If I remember correctly, shouldn’t it be more appropriate if there are seven winners? If it is a feast of the Seven, that is? I know seven is a very important number in regards to the New Gods.” Maester Godric pointed out- though Sansa had already thought of this.

She had in fact been paying attention to her Mothers many lessons, and as a young girl- Sansa held the New Gods in higher regard.

With talks of knights and fair maidens, it was all she thought she wanted, but now- now she knew the truth. After all she had seen- the evil of mankind, giants, greenseers, and white walkers. Now Sansa knew it was the Old Gods who ruled the world. 

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t pay homage to her Mothers beliefs, “Yes, I know- and we will have seven champions sit at the table with me. Two champions of horse racing, two champions of Archery, two champions of the melee, and Sandor Clegane- one champion of Winterfell. That makes seven warriors being honored at the feast.”

Sandor looked at her from across the table, his eyes intense- as it trying to get a message across to her, speaking only with his eyes. He was about to open his mouth mouth to protest when Erron Darke cut him off, not knowing he had interrupted Sandor’s protests.

“I think it’s great fun- I know my family would look forward to something like this. Most of the small folk have never seen something so grand and fancy before, maybe it could become a new tradition of sorts. And after so many died fighting the good fight- it’s only fair that we celebrate the one face of that new god stuff, that represents a fighter, I think.” Sansa liked him, the Master of Horse- he was low born and spoke like one of the people, but he was good with the horses- he had a way with them. And he was never afraid to say what he felt, Sansa appreciated this in her council.

“Well then I will begin preparations, if you all agree?” Her eyes went around the table, as each man said ‘Aye’, including Sandor who had a sparkle in his eye- that spoke of what was to come.

“Alright then, your all dismissed.” She watched as all six men began to leave the table, “Clegane, I should like it if you stay behind to discuss the melee, if you please.” 

Sandor turned back towards her, tension in his shoulders- it almost made her laugh, how easily she could rile him up.

His words were sharp, “Of course, Your Grace.”

Both of them waited until the door was shut- then he began, “ _The Champion of Winterfell?_ The fuck is that? You and I both know I was no champion that day. Why do you always have to do this to me, woman?”

  “Do what to you? I’m not doing anything.” Sansa knew he was only mad because he didn’t like the attention.

   “You-I... You give me all these bloody honors- ones that I don’t deserve! Make me sound like I’m some.... I don’t know... Knight from one of your stupid songs. That’s not me!” Sandor was pacing around the room at this point, but at this she had to stop him. She wouldn’t let him mock her.

   With steel in her voice, she fought back- knowing the only way to get her point across when it comes to how self deprecating he was, was to raise her voice and pretend it was a battle- but with words instead of swords.

  “I never said you were! And I don’t appreciate being spoken to like such in my home,” At this his head hung a bit, obviously regretting his words, “Your no knight- I don’t want you to be one. I left that world behind me long ago- but you belong at that table. And if your too bloody stubborn to sit up there with me, because you don’t like being honored- then think of it as sitting up there to protect me. Who knows what strangers I’ll be sitting next to that day?”

   “It’s not so serious, Sandor. But you can’t blow up every time I say something you don’t like. Next time, you’ll pull me aside and say,” At this she lowered her voice, and tried to imitate his deep timber, “ _’Sansa, shut the fuck up. Now tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, little bird’._ Okay?”

   He couldn’t help but laugh at her terrible impression, but agreed that his yelling at her wasn’t the way to go about it.

  “I am sorry, Sansa. I know you don’t think about the world like that anymore- I just... I don’t understand why you honor me like this all the time. I’ve never been given anything- not since before I was burned. No one had given me gifts, or kind words, or even respect without wanting something in return- so it’s hard for me to accept these things so easily. Hard to get used to is all, but it’s no excuse- I won’t promise I’ll never yell at you again, cause that would be a lie. But I’ll try my best to do it less, little bird.”

    By this time he stood before her with his head hanging low, like a dog that had misbehaved and angered his master- Sandor wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

   She would have to change that

    So Sansa lifted her hand to his ruined cheek, and  _made_ him look her in the face- “A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face. Didn’t you once say that?”

  A flick of emotion went through his eyes, as if surprised she had remembered something from so long ago. 

  “I don’t want you to lie to me, and I certainly don’t want you to die for me- but I will have you look me straight in the face, Sandor. It pleases me to see your eyes.” Eyes as gray as the stormiest winter skies. Scary, but- oh so beautiful. Eyes she could look into for the rest of her days- eyes that haunted her dreams in the best possible way. 

  “And now that this is your home- it will be my personal mission to make sure you get used to all the gifts you could carry, as many kind words as you can take, and respect will be freely given to you by everyone that walks the halls of Winterfell- this I know Sandor Clegane. It’s time you learn it as well.”

   Sansa’s hand fell from his face, and because she was so close to him she could see the small moment of disappointment when she lowered her hand, but that joy came back when that same hand slipped between his fingers.

   She marveled at the difference between the two- his hand so rough, hers so soft. His hand so large, and hers dwarfed in comparison- and yet the difference was so beautiful, Sansa couldn’t turn away. 

  Her nightmares were filled with hands- the hands of men who had hurt her in the past. 

  Joffrey’s small, cruel hands that ordered her to be beaten. Littlefinger’s slithery hands, that tried to sneak beneath her skirts whenever he could. Ramsey’s awful hands that carved scars into her flesh that would forever be there- but not his hands. 

  Sandor’s hands had always been gentle, had always been kind- he would never hurt her. He was a man that was strong- but never someone who would use that against her, Sandor was braver than any man she had ever met before.

  And so he deserved as many gifts as she could give him, regardless of if he wanted them or not.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is where we find out what Sandor has named his sword?  
>  Did any of you notice an Easter egg at the end? (a few words Sansa’s father might have said) :)   
>  Guess if you know what they were!!!  
> Thanks for reading!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ps I’m trying a POV switch in this chapter as I felt like the beginning needed to be told by Sansa, and finish with Sandor..... so let me know if you like it, or if it needs a major improve before I ever do it again!!!! XOXO

The weeks that followed leading up to the feast day were incredibly stressful for Sansa, while at the same time- very exciting. And not just for her either, but the people seemed to have a collective pep in their step- looking forward to a few days of merriment. 

The tourney would start in two days time, Manderly had already arrived today- and the Glover’s would be here as well tomorrow. So at the moment she was in her solar going over the schedule for the next few days- while Sandor sat opposite her, listing all his trainees so that they would be properly announced on the day of the event. 

The two had spent many nights either before dinner or after, in her private solar- either talking to one another, or sometimes just sitting in silence. This was the only time in the past few weeks they had found to be together. Some thought it strange, but no- it was just two people doing their jobs and spending time together whenever they could. 

That’s just how it was now- both Sandor and herself had many things to get done, and if they didn’t spend this time together, it probably would have been days before they would find another chance. 

This was better.

Sansa hadn’t realized how late it had gotten until she felt the sharp sting in the middle of her back from bending over papers for too many hours- It all felt very domestic, and she couldn’t help but watch him for a while with a smile on her face.

Sometimes she thought about Mother and Father, and how this must have been between the two- she would remember they would both be busy all the time, but it was in the quiet times they seemed the happiest.

He must have felt the weight of her stare on him as he looked up in response. Sandor stopped writing and he grew still- it was silent, but not in a way that felt awkward or weird- it felt right. 

“It’s gotten quite late. Walk me back to my rooms, will you?”

He simply nodded his head before stacking the papers he had been working on in the little corner that had essentially become his. Once finished she headed towards him and took his arm. The halls of Winterfell were silent- it felt as the whole keep was asleep with the only exception being the two of them. 

As they walked arm in arm, she looked to his side, and noticed what had been missing, keeping her voice low so as not to wake anyone- Sansa asked, “Where’s your sword? I may not know much about swords, but I know _that_  is not Widows wail.”

He chuckled before nodding and placing his hand on the hilt of the new sword, “I sent it to the smiths, I wanted it reforged- with little birds and wolves detailed on the hilt.” Her heart fluttered at how sentimental it sounded. And he thought he was so tough, no- at heart Sandor was a big softie. 

“Get it nice and northern, so one day when I’m gone- and someone else wields it, the sword will look as if it belongs in the North. Besides we needed to get rid of that Lannister gold, take off the ruby- make it like new.”She wouldn’t argue with him, but she knew that if the day ever did come when he was gone- she would never again present it to someone as she had to Sandor Clegane.

Finally reaching her door, she turned back towards him, and that warm feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her heart full, came roaring back- steeling herself and gathering as much courage as she could find, Sansa went up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. So close to where she wanted to be,yet still she was not bold enough yet. Her kiss was on the burned side, silently hoping he understood what that meant- his scars meant nothing to her, not anymore. He wasn’t the Hound. Or a Dog.

He was a Man. 

And she was a Woman. 

Sansa wanted him- as much as she was almost sure he wanted her as well.

The way a man wanted a woman.

The same way a woman wanted a man.

As it had always been since the days of the Old Gods. 

She watched his shocked face with a smile of her own, and slowly closed the door behind her. Praying that one day she might kiss the lips of he who kissed her every night in her dreams.

 

—————————————

 

The first day of the tourney went off without a hitch, a man called Willam won the first bracket in Archery, with a girl called Anya winning her own bracket as well.For the Horse Racing brackets, Gwyn and her fierce destrier won the first round, while for the second round- a man called Osric had an exciting come from behind victory with his mare.

And now Sandor would be supervising and organizing the melee, as he was one of the few people here who had any real experience with a tourney- it was his job to make it run smoothly.

It was certainly the main event of the two day tournament, with almost all the smallfolk in attendance- as well as Sansa and her crew.

She sat with all her advisors, as well as Lord Manderly, Lord Glover, and Lord Glover’s cunt son- who drooled up at Sansa without any subtlety.

Alright maybe he was exaggerating a bit- but Sandor certainly didn’t like the love-struck look that crossed that idiot, Gawen’s face.

It almost made him want to join in the melee himself, but he knew this was a moment of ‘glory’ for his pupils. They had been so excited at the prospect of showing how they had grown into _legendary warriors_ as they called it- it made Sandor laugh so hard, he couldn’t shame them for their stupidity.

Besides Sandor had to remind himself- it wasn’t that Gawen cunt that the little bird had kissed- it was him. Sansa had blessed his cheek- or mouth, as it had been on his burnt side, he had hardly felt it- with a kiss so sweet, Sandor practically walked back to his rooms drunk on her.

As he looked at her now, atop the dais, Sandor was almost sure he had the same love-struck look written across his face as the idiot Glover. So he turned away focusing on the melee that was currently happening. 

This would be different than the other events, instead of two brackets there would be four- with four men competing in each round, the winner then moving on to the next round, until only two stood. But it wouldn’t end there- the final two would fight for a higher seat at the feast, to see who was the more advanced fighter. 

We were in the final round with only three men remaining- his friend Bryden, a brute named Mors, and a third fighter who was a bit smaller- but faster and stronger than the other two called Rognar. 

He had grown a strange attachment to the boy, Bryden- and didn’t want to see him fail... But Sandor was no fool- he was confident it would be Rognar who would win the entire match. 

It was an exciting fight, that the people cheered for- when suddenly a punch to the jaw sent Mors reeling, then Bryden swept his leg and made the man yield. Finally it was down to two- having already won their seats at the table, now it was all about pride. And he doubted either man would yield easily- with Bryden being bigger and more muscled, and Rognar being quicker and lighter on his feet.

It was a long fight- until suddenly Bryden stumbled slightly on a broken piece of wood, that had thrown off his balance- and Rognar took advantage.

Bryden conceded only when his face was shoved in the mud with Rognar on top, holding his arm at an awkward angle- and the crowd roared.

Finally Sandor stepped forward, as Rognar helped Bryden to his feet- stood between the two, and gave his friend a small pat before declaring Rognar the days winner.

He looked up at his fiery headed temptress, watching as she clapped down at the winners- but her eyes were solely on his. Sandor hated it- but he had to watch her go as the event came to a close, as he had to finish up here.

“Damn- I had you so close, Rognar! I would have beat you if it hadn’t been for that bloody stick. Of course it was a stick that took me out...” Bryden complained in the competitors tent, while wiping his face clean as he could.

Rognar laughed down at him, jesting towards the younger man, “No- you were done way before that. You were tired, slowing down too- I was just waiting for the right moment! Ha!” 

Sandor went up between them before it could get any rowdier, “Alright listen up, you two. The feast will be next, you’ll have special rooms for the night and the maids said there’s baths waiting for you. So get cleaned up and be down and ready in and hour or so, got it? _And_  the two of you will be on your best behavior tonight when your sitting with the Queen- I don’t want to have to explain that my best fighters are a bunch of cunts, alright? Now get on.”

He himself had to head to his own rooms for a bath- the little bird had insisted he looked his finest tonight. A few days ago she had asked him to pick up a large package that had been resting in the corner, it had been a large and extremely heavy thing to lug up and place on the table.

“What’s this?” She has glanced over it so casually, he had thought it might have been something stupid, for the melee.

But he was wrong, “I’ve noticed you don’t have anything suitable for the feast, so I found some time to make you a few new things...” 

But as he opened the package he realized it wasn’t just a _few new things_. It was practically a new bloody wardrobe.

It had been a few tunics, a doublet, some breeches, a jerkin, some new boots, socks to go with it, and finally a great Northern Cloak- one that actually looked big enough to fit him, it wouldn’t be riding above his calves, barely keeping him warm.

No- this was crafted with care- “You trying to tell me you made all this in such a short time?” 

At this, she finally blushed- and he loved it, “Well no, it’s something I’ve been working on since you got here, and finally finished. I didn’t want to just start putting some of these in your rooms with your laundry, I wanted to wait until they were all finished- a gift.” 

Something else he now owed her- because it seemed like she never stopped giving, but he would take it if it made her happy.

“So... you’ll wear them, then?” She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, as if scared he might say no- and for a moment he was brought back to all those years ago when she had been so young and naive.

“Of course, little bird. It’ll be the finest damn things I’ve ever worn, thanks to you.” And her smile was worth it all.

     Before he finished the look and headed out Sandor put his sword on his hip, he had finally gotten it back from the smiths- though a day late, Sandor accepted it all the same. It had been fine work- and it looked gorgeous. So he strapped it on- and he felt almost as this was where he truly belonged.

But once he got downstairs the feast was already in full swing, with people eating and laughing, and drinking to their hearts content.

He looked up at the high table where he knew he would be expected to sit, and found the little bird and the six champions, with a space empty next to her.

Sandor walked forward until he was escorted to his seat next to Sansa, “Glad you could finally join us, Clegane. You look quite handsome.” 

Her comment was something that did funny things to his insides, made him laugh at her sarcasm, while at the same time he tried to hide the little bit of heat in his cheeks from her compliment.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

Sandor looked up at her for the first time tonight, she had a small smile on her face, and rosiness in her cheeks- her bright auburn hair was pulled back in this intricate low bun. It only made him want to slowly take out the pins, and put his hands through her lovely hair. 

As Sandor scanned the room he could tell he was not the only one to notice how beautiful the queen looked tonight- and this almost crazed feeling went through him, that made him want to pull her in his lap and scream that she was ‘mine’.

Though he had no right to her- it was in his nature, whenever a dog was thrown a bone- this dog was extremely possessive of his things. And he didn’t want to let go- ever.

But eventually he had to leave the table as the night grew more and more relaxed, he walked over to chat with some of his defeated trainees to console them of a fight well fought.

It was then the Glover’s and Manderly that called him over, they sat one seat under the high table- and it took a lot for Sandor not to glare at the young Glover, but he persisted.

“That was a good melee today, Clegane. If I heard correctly those were your men out there, yes?” The old man slurred at him with happy- but drunk- eyes.

“Aye, those were my men Lord Manderly. And thank you- they’ve been working hard, I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments.”

It was Glover who spoke next, only slightly less drunk, “Well of course they’re his men- he’s the new bloody Master at Arms here at Winterfell, o’course his men are fearsome, right Clegane? Only a man who can wield a fucking sword like this big fellow, would receive the honor of Valerian Steel!” 

Sandor was about to smile and laugh at Glover’s passion, until his cunt son spoke up, “Yeah, what’s it called? Widow’s Wail? Still kept it’s Lannister name for a Lannister dog?”

His father bellowed, before Sandor could respond, “Shut your hole, Gawen! Keep talking like that and I’ll have ‘im cut you in bloody half!” 

“I’ll gladly do so at your command Lord Glover, but no- I was about to correct your son. My sword does have a name- it’s called Winter’s Kiss.” At that both Manderly and Glover seemed to sober up a bit.

“A good northern name- one that honors the late Ned Stark is one to be respected here in the North. Aye, it’s a good name, son.” Manderly looked a bit solemn when he spoke, as though the reminder of the man had tampered his good mood. 

Sandor had been so enraptured by the conversation, he hadn’t even noticed the little bird had been standing slightly beside him.

“I agree Lord Manderly, he honors my father with such a name. I am surely proud to have Clegane in my household, wielding my family’s ancestral sword.” Her eyes seemed to move towards the younger Glover, and now Sandor believed she might have started heading this way hearing Robett yell at his son like such, and might have overheard the young mans comment.

And it almost made him want to puff out his chest in some manly way at how she had pulled out her claws to defend him- though he didn’t need it, Sandor loved seeing it all the same.

“Your Grace is kind. It is honor to serve _you_.” As Sandor spoke she turned to look at him and it was as if there was no one else in the room- only the two of them.

Her eyes sparkled and the corners of her mouth turned up as she nodded her head at the four of them- he watched her go when his staring was interrupted when the elder Glover spoke up, “Might I ask, why you named it as such?”

Sandor turned back towards the trio and spoke while looking at Gawen, “Because the last thing _our_  enemies will feel, is the cold kiss of winter as it slices through their necks.” And with that Sandor left the Lords behind, to go out searching for some dornish red- and red of another kind as well.

     Sandor looked for a good long while and had been unlucky in his search for the little bird, so he headed up to his rooms with a small skin of wine in his hands- Sandor wasn’t as heavily of a drinker anymore. Rather needing his senses to be sharp during the wars, his need for it had ebbed to something he only had sometimes.

While he walked Sandor wondered if his little bird had noticed that his swords new name hadn’t only been an homage to the North- but to her as well. 

Ever since that kiss, it was all that went through his head- and Sandor figured if that was to be the only time she kissed him ever again, at least he had his sword to remember the moment by.

Taking off his tunic and breeches, leaving him only in his small clothes, Sandor was just about to fall asleep- when the door to his rooms started open. 

His hand was on his swords hilt in a flash- ready for anything.....

But not for this-

Because he knew that red, Sandor could find that red in a crowd of thousands- it was the red he had been searching for.

And now she was here.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUM BUM BUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys- I do have something we need to talk about. I’ve been packing for the past few hours, so I hope this one wasn’t too hectic lol. But I know I’ve been uploading daily, but I am going on vacay, and all my updates might not be on time- but I was wondering if y’all wanted me to keep up the daily updates or are fine waiting? Lmk!!!!  
>  Tell me your thoughts on either the chapter or my updating schedule- ENJOY!!!!

   Sandor immediately sat up and a ‘Sansa’ came rushing out his mouth, she smiled at him but held a finger up to her lips- as if to silence him.

And silenced he was- from shock.

From wonder.

His emotions went from one end of the spectrum to the other, all while she shut and barred the door. Usually women barred the door with him on the other side of it.

But here was his little bird, coming closer against all reason- in his room! Suddenly Sandor felt a wave of embarrassment at how underdressed he was- the last thing he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable. So as subtly as he could, he pulled the blankets to at least cover his small clothes.

She stood in front of him at the end of his bed, looking him over from what felt like head to toe- “I- I didn’t get to say goodnight.” 

As if it was that simple, “Oh...”

“I know this must be unexpected.” It was as if she had changed in the few minutes since she had come here- when she first opened his door, Sansa had looked confident and sure of herself. But now- now she looked as if she thought he might bite, if she said the wrong thing. Which he never would.

Unless she asked.

“A bit.” Gods- he sounded like an idiot. 

Sandor watched as she moved around towards the edge of the mattress, slowly she sat down and his heart sped up- “I wanted to tell you, that what Glover said- it was totally out of line and-“

“That wasn’t you, little bird. You don’t have to apologize for his cunt words- besides it don’t matter to me what someone like him says.” Again his heart fluttered in that terribly cheesy way at how protective she was of him. 

Him who was a no one. A nobody. 

She was obviously passionate about this as she grew closer and grabbed his hand, “It matters to me, that’s not who you are- not anymore. Your not a Lannister, _you_  are your own man. You have no master and no one to serve other than yourself. “ The little birds cheeks were pink and her words were firm- and he had never been more entranced.

It was at this moment that Sandor would look back and wonder where in the hell he found the courage to be so bold, to be so incredibly translucent- “You sure I don’t have a master, little bird? I think I might... Might be someone who holds my leash- may be someone whose commands I willingly follow.”

At his comment she took in a shaky breath, and her beautiful eyes seemed to water the slightest bit. 

She suddenly stood up and blew out the candles burning near the door, leaving only the fireplace- it was the slightest bit darker, but he could see just fine.

He certainly saw fine enough to see Sansa untie her robe- she was left only in her shift and smallclothes when she walked back over towards him.

“May I?” She gestured towards the bed- and honestly Sandor had no idea what that meant, it could be anything she was asking.

So instead he just nodded his head and watched her pull back the covers and slide into bed next to him.

In his bed.

Next to him! 

This was nothing to be skimmed over, this moment was monumental- and so incredibly scary.

Sandor has no idea what to do. How to treat a high born girl, what she wanted, this was all new to him.

So instead he would wait for her- let her decide anything and everything that happened from this moment on...

Sansa laid next to him, so he followed her lead- laying straight on his back, to her right- he was stiff as a board.

“I know this must be confusing. I’m guessing I’m just as unsure about what I’m doing. But I do know one thing- I am sure about you, Sandor.” Her small hand went over towards his far shoulder and pulled him until he was on his side, facing her. 

“I may- I might not ever be ready to take this any further, and I know that’s selfish of me to ask this of you, but for now... could this maybe be enough?” By now she was trying to stop her lower lip from trembling, and he knew this was hard for her to ask- hard for her to talk about.

And it only made him hate the bastard Ramsay, even more than he did before. Sandor has heard the rumors, but none of it had ever been confirmed.

So he raised his too rough hands to her face, and wiped away the few tears that had escaped, “Sansa. It’s not selfish, not at all. I’m a cunt of a man- a nobody who came from nothing, but you- your an angel. Certainly the best person that’s ever even looked my way- so whatever you decide to give me, I’d be honored to have. And if that means all I ever get is to hold you some nights- then that will be enough.”

Her unrivaled red head was buried in his shoulder at this point, and he could hear her small sniffles. And for a moment he felt like an awful person- because he never saw her like this. At least not after the departed in Kong’s Landing, since then he had never seen her vulnerable. Sansa had always been strong and seemingly unbreakable ever since he fist saw her at the feast all those months ago. But of course she cried- after everything she’d been through it was only fair that her heart break a little after one bad thing happened after another. But she had to put on this facade for everyone around her- and he could only imagine how tiring that must be for his little bird.

So he let her cry, held her for as long as she wanted- and waited until she was ready to speak. 

Her head came up to look at him, it had been a while- and Sandor had no clue how long it had been, but his waiting had paid off. Because now she was looking at him, her eyes were puffy and she had tear tracks running down her face- there may have been a little bit of snot, but he didn’t mind. Somehow she looked even more adorable.

“Can I stay?” She asked while wiping her face clean.

Thoughts ran through his head of the life he could have with her- if she wasn’t a queen, and he wasn’t a dog. It would have been heaven, to hold her on good days and bad- to fall asleep with his red haired woman in his arms. 

It was a beautiful dream. 

But it was just that-

A dream.

“Are you sure? What if you get caught heading back to your rooms?” He would stop this right here if he thought in any way she might be burdened with the repercussions of their actions.

Sansa looked in his eyes before laying back on his shoulder- her hair still in the low bun, obviously uncomfortable- “I am Queen in the North, if I get caught- I will tell them to look the other way. And because the staff here are good people, they will turn a blind eye.”

He could tell she wasn’t totally sure of what she was saying- because even if she believed that, there might be one person who wasn’t so good. 

But this was her choice- as everything they do would be.

“Is your head hurting?” Sandor noticed again as she winced and moved her head to find a better spot.

She shook her head at him, “It’s the pins- but it’s fine. I’ll wait till morning and have one of my ladies take them out-“ 

“I could do it. I- I mean I could try...” And it was almost embarrassing how fast he volunteered for the chance to run his fingers through her hair. Something he had dreamt of for almost longer than he could remember. 

   Her hair had always fascinated him- Sandor couldn’t remember much about his mother, he couldn’t even remember her face- but he remembered the woman’s hair.

And though it wasn’t nearly as bright as Sansa’s, his mother’s hair had had a slight red tint to it. And so when he saw the little bird all those years ago- immediately he was reminded of what he could not remember.

And he hated it.

Hated her. 

Hated her and that long, soft red hair.

He hated it so much, that he could spot it from anywhere in the castle- even if it was only a glimpse he knew it was her.

And then one day he realized maybe he didn’t hate it so much.

Maybe it was beautiful.

Maybe he loved it.

And now here he was- begging to comb his fingers through the hair he had claimed to hate so much.

What a mind fuck.

Sansa smiled a tiny smile at his eager response, but instead of answering- she simply sat up and turned her back to him.

And so he began.

First he started putting his fingers through the bun, looking for pins- and pulling them out when he found them.

Eventually he had a small pile of pins on his side table, but he continued.

Sometimes he would swear, when he would snag a long hair and accidentally pull it out- Sandor would apologize over and over.

And every time she would tell him it was fine, until eventually her head was lolled back- and when he would pull to hard again, she would hit him back with ‘s’alright’.

As it she was drunk off this simple action. Although he could understand if she was- because this was bliss. Her hair was so nice, and very long- Sandor would never admit it, but he may have lifted a lock and taken a quick smell.

Lemons.

But the best part was the color. With the firelight illuminating it behind him, it looked as though her hair was on fire. And anyone who knew him- would know Sandor Clegane would never willingly go near anything that reminded him of the flame.

But this? He would touch the flames of her hair for as long as he could, and the memory would be burned into his soul for the rest of his miserable life.

Finally he stopped when it was as straight as he could possibly get it with hisfingers- and Sandor felt like maybe, maybe he had been doing it for a bit too long. Like an awkward amount of time- way too long for any normal person.

But when she felt him stop, and turned back around- the look on her face nearly bowled him over.

She looked as if she had been right and properly fucked- the way a woman looks with a man who knows what he’s doing, and she ends up looking deliriously tired and happy at the same time. 

That was how Sansa Stark looked right now.

And Sandor realized he would be forever chasing this look to be repeated on his little birds face, until the end of time.

“Thank you, Sandor.”

He was about to come back with some stupid thing to say to make it seem not so pathetic that he loved this so much, when suddenly her arms went round his shoulders and her face came towards his face.

She kissed him.

_She_ kissed him?

She kissed _him_!

And it was almost as if time stopped- and sped up at the same time.

The kiss was sweet- and a little messy.

At least on his part, Sandor was embarrassed to admit it, but he didn’t have much experience with kissing. Paying extra to a whore for a kiss neither of them wanted seemed like a waste of money. 

And so he was kissing Sansa Stark like a green boy with hardly no experience- at least he knew if it ever did get to the next level, he would be ready then. Sandor wouldn’t lie and say he hadn’t been curious about the female body, so from a somewhat young age- he had always been skilled in knowledge when it came to a lady.

The girls he laid with never wanted to look him in the face as he knelt over them, but they surely left satisfied- 

So at least he knew if the day ever did come- Sansa would not be left wanting. She would realize the pleasures that could come from the flesh when properly applied.

But until then he would practice this kissing- he would kiss Sansa Stark until he was blue in the face, all to make her happy.

  Alright- to make him happy, too.

Suddenly she pulled away to catch her breath, and for a moment- Sandor panicked, thinking she wanted him to stop. But instead she pulled his head in towards her neck, and he got the hint- Sandor dropped small pecks around her throat, thinking now he was more the little bird.

He almost laughed at his own ridiculous humor when she spoke, “I did very much like the name, Winter’s Kiss- if you couldn’t already tell. Especially the part about kissing- Yes, that was my favorite bit.” 

This time Sandor did snort into the little birds neck, giving her a playful bite- which she squealed at before the two of them eventually drifted off to sleep.

In each other’s arms, it was the best night sleep either of them had had in a very, very long time.

And Sandor hoped he might have many more restful nights to come. 


End file.
